A Wasteland Where Nothing Could Grow
by Child of Mars
Summary: "There was moisture on Ben's face. Probably blood from his nose. His lips were swollen from blisters. Luckily, he wouldn't live long enough to see any other symptoms. He wanted to cry. He wanted to ask Star if his mother had died crying." - a series of snapshots into the life of the Lone Wanderer, the home he lost, and the people he saved. Rated for mentioned violence.
1. Dogmeat

**A Wasteland Where Nothing Could Grow**

 **Dogmeat**

The Potomac River ran thick and heavy. It was choked by garbage and debris, dark with hidden poison. Project Purity had promised to inject new life into the water and make it clean and fresh again. But now the project leader was dead, and all the machinery that went with it was in the hands of a tyrannical army of fiends in black armor. Hope was so rare in the Wastelands…it didn't help that losing it made everything seem twice as desperate.

Fawkes' shadow wavered in the light of the setting sun as the super mutant ran along the muddy shore. He was swinging his sledge into the Mirelurks, batting them left and right like heavy shopping carts as their shells cracked and split under the blows. His war-screams sounded equal parts glee and rage. This was one of his favorite jobs…clearing the chosen campsite for those miserable times when they were forced to sleep out in the open.

Ben leaned his rifle against a warped picnic table. Dogmeat was standing a few feet below him, paws almost touching the shores of the river. Almost touching, but not quite. Any other time, any other river, a normal dog would have taken a drink or chased a frisbee into the depths. But not when the river was radiated and poisonous. Not when almost every other dog out in the wastes had turned into feral, ever-hungry monsters with yellow eyes and balding, rotted skin.

Ben made sure his steps were gentle but fairly audible. He'd learned the hard way not to sneak up on Dogmeat. Whatever the German Shepard had been through before that incident in the Scrapyard had turned him as feral as his brethren when he was unpleasantly surprised.

He came up beside Dogmeat and then sat down heavily, crossing his legs. Now that Dogmeat was aware of his presence there was little to fear. Reaching out with a carefree hand, he began grooming the animal. Grimacing in disgust, he tugged what he could only assume was old Ghoul-flesh off of Dogmeat's ears. Flicking it into the Potomac with vehemence, he then patted the dog's muscular back.

He was rewarded by the sticky, skin-peeling sensation of dry Mirelurk juice. For the hundredth time, he marveled at how Dogmeat was still alive.

Dogmeat turned his head towards him, panting softly as if he could hear his thoughts and was offering a mute acknowledgement. Ben saw blood staining his muzzle. More than disgust, he felt existential sadness. If only the Potomac River had been purified, he could be giving Dogmeat a proper bath. If only…

If only his father was still alive.

 _No. Stop._ _ **Don't**_ _._

All perfectly good warnings. _Don't think about it._ Ben swallowed, doing his best to heed them as he tried to distract himself. "It's crazy to me, Dogmeat. You're literally just a dog."

Dogmeat whuffed softly, pushing his muzzle into Ben's open palm. His nose was cold. Ben smiled. "Just a dog. You can't talk, and for so long you were alone, friendless, probably hurt by anyone who could get ahold of you…" his voice faltered. Sensing his distress, Dogmeat dropped to his belly beside him, his body comfortable and heavy against Ben's side. Ben smiled. "You're still such a good dog. Friendly, loyal…kind, I guess. If a dog can be kind."

He ran his fingers through the thick fur on Dogmeat's neck, feeling the ugly bump of scar tissue there from countless collars and nooses. "My…my father was like that. Kind."

 _Great job, Benedict. Ignore your own advice._

"It must be some ironic twist of fate that…when he was trapped in the virtual world, he looked EXACTLY like you. A German Shepard, mismatching eyes and all."

Dogmeat rested his head on his paws, watching Fawkes in the distance. The super mutant was finished with the Mirelurks and had his sledge slung over his shoulder. He was staring at the ground, distracted by a bug or something equally trivial. Fawkes often got caught up in what other people took for granted.

"When we took back the Jefferson Memorial from…from the super mutants, remember we went inside first? You, me, and Fawkes? We cleaned them all out. Then Dad and the scientists came rushing by with their equipment and their chatter, spinning around my head…I couldn't take it. All those people, those faces…and my Dad, back with me again. Alive and _safe_ , against all hope. And he was _busy_. Absorbed. A complete stranger. I couldn't take it, so I went outside to stand sentry."

The fingers in Dogmeat's scruff tightened. The animal whined.

Ben seemed not to have heard him. "I thought he'd forget about me. Thought I could sulk outside till it grew dark, till the moon was up and I could sneak into bed, still sulking. But it was just a few minutes, Dogmeat… _minutes_ , and he missed me. Came out to talk to me. Asked me why I was standing around outside."

Deep, shivering breaths. "That was when I told him, boy. I told him what the Wasteland had done to me. How I found a community that accepted me, until they didn't. Until a conman cut into my head and took a piece of my brain. Hacking and numbers are still here but…theory? Stringing processes together? Coherent, controlled avenues of thought? All gone. I wasn't a scientist any more. I was a gunman with a knack for numbers and running my mouth off…good for nothing but cleaning out the super mutants. Good for nothing but pushing people around or killing them."

The fingers grew slack. The hand rested heavily on Dogmeat's back, warm and sad. "Dad didn't care that I'd been lobotomized. That I would never be his 'chip off the old block'. He coaxed me inside. ' _You can do so many things, Benedict_.'" Again, Ben's voice broke as he imitated his father. "' _So, so many things. They may have taken away what you already knew…but that only means you have so many more things to learn.'_ "

He went quiet. For a long time. For so long that Fawkes snapped out of his trance and came trudging heavily towards them, loudly proclaiming that he would take first watch. Dogmeat lifted his ears suspiciously at the green mutant, never quite trustful of the human who wasn't human anymore.

"Is it…" Ben was whispering now that Fawkes grew closer. "Is it weird to say that…his voice was strong? The strongest sound I've ever heard, and I'm never going to have that again. Never going to have his support, or his advice…any road I take from now will be my choice, and my fault."

Again, he wiped at the dried, sticky blood around Dogmeat's jaw. Without fear, he scratched behind the dog's ears and ruffled his fur. "You're much better than this, boy." Ben's blue eyes were fixed on an invisible point, as if he were talking to Dogmeat, his father, and himself all at the same time. "It doesn't matter that the world has gone wrong…you're just as good inside as you could have been outside. You have value."


	2. Butch DeLoria

**Butch DeLoria**

It took at least three glances for Ben to process that the stranger sitting in the corner of the Muddy Rudder was Butch. Butch DeLoria, one-time bully and G.O.A.T.-proclaimed hairdresser of Vault 101.

Slumped over his chair with more than two bottles of whiskey sitting on the table. One of them was empty. Whatever Butch was going through, Ben knew it had to be a mixture of culture shock and the sudden loss of all boundaries, both literal and figurative. Vault 101 had been a tightly controlled, tiny prison underground. Out here there was no Overseer, no corridors, no responsibilities.

Like the rest of them, Butch had never been allowed to make his own choices. _Of course_ he was making all the wrong ones now.

Uncertain of the consequences but absolutely certain of the necessity, Ben immediately became determined to remove Butch from the Muddy Rudder and get him outside.

When he slid into the seat beside Butch, he had to snap his fingers to keep the young man's attention. Bleary-eyed, Butch's face lit up with recognition. "Bitch!...I-I mean, Benedict!"

"Ben," Ben whispered harshly, "I go by Ben now."

Being a Benedict, the son of James and Catherine Hawkins, was something of an unnecessary trial in the Wastelands. Specifically because the name elicited either vulgar jokes or unreasonable fury in the local thugs. Ben still wasn't sure why. Maybe because one time in their lives they'd met someone who could actually read, and that person told them they'd read 'Benedict' in a book. Anything that had to do with education or culture tended to enrage illiterates. Even names with three syllables in them.

"Whatever you say, man," Butch replied dismissively.

Eventually, after watching him empty his last bottle, Ben was able to persuade Butch that they were going to start the Tunnel Snakes anew in the Wastelands. A gang the two of them would co-lead. It didn't matter that a gang was too small for the Wastelands, and that Butch had never handled sharing authority well. For some reason Butch was eager to join hands with his former victim.

And for some reason, Ben was trying to save his former tormentor.

Finally they were stepping through the doors of the Muddy Rudder, with Ben having to remind Butch to lift his feet high to avoid the rise in the tanker doorway. "Now Butch, I have a friend travelling with me who's…a big guy. Very imposing. So don't be alarmed when you see him, okay?"

"Whaddya mean? Tunnel Snakes aren't afraid of nothing…dammit!" Butch slurred arrogantly, slamming his hip into the corner of a table and swearing violently all in the same breath.

Waiting for him to recover, Ben hoped Butch was right. While he didn't have much faith in Butch's brains or bravado, the kid had made it pretty far into the Wastelands on his own. All the way from Vault 101 to Rivet City was quite a journey for someone armed only with a switchblade. He _had_ to know what a super mutant was by now. All in all, it made Ben hopeful that Butch wouldn't be disturbed by Fawke's appearance.

At that moment, Fawkes, who hadn't been allowed to set foot inside the bar, turned the corner. His big green head looked at them, eyes hidden by the swollen forehead. The wide, round hole where his lips should have been glistened with teeth and the metal staples framing his face. A friendly growl rumbled in his chest. "Greetings!"

Butch took one look at Fawkes and screamed. It was so piercing that Ben winced and stumbled back as, arms flailing, Butch took off at a blind run, still screaming. The scream was only cut off abruptly as Butch crashed into a wall, knocking himself out cold. He slid to the floor with a boneless thump.

"Was it my smile?" Fawkes asked, honestly trying to improve his 'first impression' skills. As Ben felt Butch for a pulse, Fawkes repeated himself in typical super mutant emphasis…a roar. "WAS IT MY SMILE?"

Ben winced at the second loud sound he'd been subjected to. "Remember, inside voice. Also, no, it wasn't your smile. Now please pick him up and let's get out of here before Security becomes suspicious."

Once outside, Butch picked a good moment to wake up. Just as Fawkes was putting him down, he lurched out of the mutant's arms and hit the ground in a roll that was almost impressive in its addled consistency. Struggling to his knees he staggered towards Ben, ranting and begging him to "Shoot it! Shoot it!"

It took extreme effort and a few extreme threats, but finally Butch was persuaded to sit quietly, several meters away from Fawkes. He was also sober enough to get angry. Ben was standing by him, trying to explain that Fawkes was an intelligent being who'd been handed some unbelievably bad luck.

Butch shook his head, courageous enough to send a timid glare Fawke's way. "What the hell even did that to him? He looks like the Green Goblin on steroids and smells like a pile of radroach shit!"

"That's just inaccurate," Ben replied, frowning, "He smells like human remains dipped in FEV Virus left to fester in direct sunlight for ten years…but being a fresh Vault-Dweller, I suppose radroach shit is the only comparison you have."

Finally, they drifted into uneasy silence. Fawkes grew restless and stalked off to bother the Rivet City Caravan. Thankfully, this particular group had seen him often enough to know not to shoot at him.

Ben sat on the ground, lowering himself to be as unthreatening as possible as he peered carefully up into Butch's face. "You know, Butch…the Tunnel Snake offer still stands. With a super mutant on our side, we're pretty unstoppable." _Most of the time._

Curiosity sparked in Butch's eyes. Ben had always envied that aggressive, often foolish enthusiasm. "Yeah, that's true," Butch murmured. "It'd be pretty cool to have a pet monster."

"He's not a monster!" Ben corrected him, trying not to get angry. "If our Vault had been any different we'd be just like him."

Butch paled. Ben thought now was a good time to strike at what was really bothering him. "So…while I was gone, did your Mom ever…ever get sober? Go through therapy?"

As Ben had hoped, white-hot anger chased away every other emotion in the kid's face. Butch's hands clenched into fists. It didn't matter that there was a super mutant close at hand. Always, Ellen DeLoria was her son's only soft spot. "For a so-called goody two-shoes you sure drag my Mom down a lot. You always have. Look, punk, it was tough on her losing Franco. She raised me all by herself and I'm sorry she didn't meet your standards but she sure isn't here to be admired by you! You don't get to judge her, cause your Daddy left you too!"

That was unexpected. That stabbed Ben right in the lungs and he felt the air leave him. For a moment, there was stricken pain and unbridled rage warring in him. When he spoke again, his voice was colder than he meant it to be. "My Dad left me because he was an idiot. Yours left because he didn't _care_. Your Mom didn't care enough to _not_ drink away your ration coupons. She was never even sober enough to give you a haircut or advice on how not to be an _asshole_."

Fawkes appeared in the corner of Ben's vision, a green blur. He knew that was the only thing stopping Butch from trying to tear his throat out. Butch was leaning forward, knuckles bulging. Any moment, Ben expected to see the knife darting towards his open eye.

"My. Mom." Butch's voice shook, a harsh whisper of rage, "Did. Her. _Best_. She never _left_ me. She did the best she could with the shitty hand life dealt her."

"And that's why you're following in her footsteps?" Ben saw the opening and took it.

Butch's entire attitude buckled in surprise. "I…I'm not!"

Ben leaned forward and flicked the black leather lapel of Butch's jacket. It made a wet, slapping sound. Soaked in whiskey. "You know you stuffed a third bottle in your jacket. You stole it like it was bread and you hadn't eaten for a week. It shattered against the wall you ran into. Because you were drunk."

Fawkes' big shadow covered them both, commandeering the moment before Butch could reply. The super mutant gazed studiously at the back of Butch's head, the slicked-down hair. A far cry from his earlier vehemence, Butch was the picture of anxiety, every muscle locked in place.

"Vrutch," Fawkes growled, the absence of lips deforming the name. "You have a problem, and Ben wants to help! He should hate you but he is overcoming his baser nature." Growing passionate, Fawkes completely forgot about 'inside voice'. "You must learn to do the same for me, and ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM."

At the roaring decibel, Ben smiled as Butch's eyes widened, petrified.

Oblivious, Fawkes put a heavy green hand on Butch's shoulder. Butch's terror spiked. "In return, I will aid Ben in enforcing this…intervention! This is an intervention for you and your…alcoholism…Vrutch!"

Pleased with his reasonable speech, Fawkes waited for a response. Still burdened by a giant hand that felt like cement and rubber, Butch's eyes pleaded for Ben to help him. Ben shook his head, his meaning obvious. _Speak for yourself._

" _Thankyou_." Was the answer that finally came, a distressed whisper, a squeak.

And that was that. Butch accompanied Ben and Fawkes and Dogmeat (who he was much quicker to make friends with than the super mutant and the Lone Wander, the two actual fellow beings in the group) and, surprisingly, began to flourish as a valuable extra gun. Another defense against the endless terrors of the Wasteland.

Things between Ben and Butch became…affable. Almost new, in a way, as they began discovering things about each other that they never took the time to learn before. They weren't quite friends, but companions was a good way to put it. Allies. People who remembered the same home and the same people and sometimes wondered if they missed it. They never grew as close as Ben's real friends from back home. Jim Wilkins, Chip Taylor. _Amata_ …

But they spent their days pulling each other out of fires and sniping down ghouls before they could fall upon them and tear them to pieces. They wrinkled their noses at the stench of Molerat musk and braved mech-patrolled factories for Stimpaks when the other was dying. They were bound to become…not friends…but maybe a little more than allies.

It was a truly rewarding moment when, one day, Ben came struggling out of a doorless outhouse. He was dragging his splinted leg back to their campsite. A few days earlier a Molerat had darted out of a dark hole in the sewers and sung yellow fangs into his knee. It made life difficult, but he was still alive and that was fine.

As Ben limped up the hill towards camp he heard voices…Fawkes and Butch. With his bad leg already tiring him, he sat down on a stray tire to eavesdrop.

"No listen, man…all I'm saying is, you gotta stop shouting negative crap when we're in combat."

 _Butch?_ Ben tilted his head, already desperate to see where this was going.

"You mean my battle cries? They help me focus. THEY DON'T MEAN ANYTHING."

"Ech, inside voice!" Butch sounded pained a moment. "I'm not just talking about the 'Hurry up, I'm hungry!" thing, which makes you sound like a cannibal."

"A cannibal eats its own! Then I _am_ human!" Fawkes interrupted, delighted at apparently winning his and Butch's month-long argument.

"What? No man, you're a nightmare. But that's not the point. The one that's really bad is the 'I kill to feel alive!'. You can't just say that all the time! Just because it isn't true doesn't mean you shouldn't worry about saying it. Cause…it'll never change if you make a habit out of it, right? Like reading a good book or a trashy magazine…when you think something it sticks, even if it's pretend." Nervous shuffling. Dogmeat's whine floated down to Ben. He could just _see_ Dogmeat sensing someone's distress, resting his chin on Butch's knee.

Fawkes was strangely quiet. When Butch spoke again, his voice was dark with worry. "Sometimes… sometimes I hear you tell Ben that you're afraid that parts of you are gonna take over. That you're gonna change like the other mutants and stop being… _you_. So you shouldn't…shouldn't be saying stuff that _you_ wouldn't really want you to say."

A pin could have dropped in the silence that followed. Ben was tense, worried that Fawkes hadn't properly understood Butch's garbled explanation.

As usual, Butch couldn't rest in the quiet. "Intervention, man! Just like you and Ben do for me when I get that itch, I'm gonna tell you not to do something that could hurt you later."

That was when Fawkes laughed. The rough, rolling sound of it echoed across the dead hills, disturbing a flock of Bloatflies. Ben whipped his pistol out in case they came any nearer. In the meantime, he listened to the continued discussion.

There was a thud…probably Fawkes hitting Butch in the back, a friendly slap that would send Butch to his knees, plowing through the Wasteland dust. A shout of outrage. Fawkes merely laughed again in response. "You're too stupid to see how smart you really are, Vrutch!" the super mutant calmed down finally. His voice grew somber. "And I…I will try not to be too stupid to listen to you when you… intervene."


	3. Star Paladin Cross, aka Star

**Star Paladin Cross, aka "Star"**

"Star isn't responding to comms!" Butch cried, eyes scanning the ramps above them for the glint of a Raider's sniper-rifle. Fawkes was raging around them, shaking his sledge so as to be the bigger target.

Reloading as quickly as he could, Ben glanced worriedly at the bent, twisted gates leading down into the Metro tunnels. "We're going back for her in five if she doesn't respond."

The hidden Raiders appeared, one of them aiming for Fawkes' head while the other came running down the stairs hugging the apartment complex above them. He was armed with a lead pipe, yet he sped towards them with all the confidence of a man who'd never heard of death. His burnt face was twisted in a sneer.

The gunman's head exploded with a caliber shot from Ben's hunting rifle. The melee raider was stopped short as a sledge flattened his chest, caving it in and sending his body hurtling back towards the stairs he'd jumped down from.

But it wasn't Fawkes' sledge. It was Star's. The Paladin swung her weapon back, hefting the weight into her dominant hand with an ease that belied her cyborg-enhanced strength. Grimly, she turned to meet Ben's gaze. "We're all clear."

"That's our girl!" Butch whooped, shaking his jammed gun carelessly.

Star's face darkened. She had counselled Butch before on using that moniker. But Butch was so incorrigible that even now Ben found himself using it, in his head.

Before the venerable knight could say a word, however, Fawkes interrupted with an outraged bellow of horrified understanding. "STAR PALADIN CROSS DOES NOT BELONG TO US." He turned to Ben, asking him to share this revelation. "We should NOT CALL HER OURS."

Ben opened his mouth to keep Butch from triggering another long and senseless argument between the two knuckle-heads. Instead, to his surprise, Star turned to the mutant. Her narrow, wizened face was severe, but her dark eyes were gentle. "Calm yourself, Fawkes. Am I a slave?"

"NO!" Fawkes roared.

"True," Star nodded. "I do not belong to you, or Benedict, or anyone else. No one would believe otherwise, because you treat me with respect, and because I could defend myself against any one of you. So when they call me, 'our girl', it does not make anyone think of ownership. What Butch means is another way of saying, 'we are bonded'. We are companions on a journey together who protect each other. But saying, 'that's the woman we are bonded too' is too long and sounds a bit like marriage, don't you think?"

Ben and Butch both stared in open-mouthed astonishment as the ancient and revered Paladin explained to the hulking super mutant why two clingy Vault orphans were calling her, 'our girl'.

In perfect ease and clarity, the woman who had killed hundreds upon hundreds of super mutants showed her skill at communication with said mutants, as if blowing them apart with her energy pistol had somehow given her special insight into their hampered brains.

Butch called her 'our girl' because he made connections easily under duress. Because Star gave him discipline and advice and criticism, pushing him to improve in ways his own mother never could. In fact, Ben thought it was very possible that Star gave Butch the authoritarian motivation that Franco DeLoria had run away from. She was a parent of some kind…a twisted version, incomplete, odd at first sight and not completely what Butch needed. But that was the Wastelands for you. Every gift was mutated.

Ben, on the other hand, felt a much more concrete connection to Paladin Cross. She had been one of the Brotherhood guarding Project Purity, back before Ben was born. Back when his mother was still alive. Young and in love with his father, burning with the passion to fix the world's problems.

She had memories stored in her. Precious knowledge that Ben took every opportunity to garner. But that wasn't the reason he called her 'our girl'. That wasn't the reason he burned his way through an entire metro of ghouls just to find a new power converter for her left arm when the old one was shorted out, rendering the entire limb useless.

She was a Cyborg, a powerful ally, and a window into the past.

She was also quiet, patient, and unbelievably kind when you took the time to talk to her.

One such time was right before taking back Project Purity. Ben had been spirited away into the very center of the Enclave fortress of Raven Rock. He'd seen the heart, confronted the devils who ruled there…and he'd left it on fire.

It brought up a lot of bad memories. They were on their way back to the Citadel, stopping at an abandoned Dot's Diner for the night. Fawkes and Butch were inside, snoring soundly on either side of the counter. Dogmeat was away on some wild escapade of his own.

Ben was sitting on the very edge of the plateau the diner rested on, staring down into a Scorpion-filled valley. He could hear the clicks of their restless little legs moving in the moonlight.

Star came up behind him, her heavy armor making a dull grating sound. A pause, and she skillfully lowered her boots over the edge, sitting down without touching him.

Ben knew why she was here. "I wish I could have done more."

"More than kill hundreds of Enclave soldiers in their sleep, more than destroy the strongest foothold they had in this territory?" Star asked, bemused. Her eyes flickered searchingly over Ben's profile, his red hair, his newly trimmed beard. As usual, she knew more than she was saying. Ben had asked her for help, merely by sitting here alone in the dark. She would give him what he needed.

Then came the question Ben had dreaded. "Or did you want to do more to avenge James?"

"I'm full of hate," Ben whispered in response. He was rarely this open with anyone. Hadn't been this open since he was a Vault dweller, and he hated it. Yet more hate. "I'm burning with it…because of _him_."

Star knew who 'him' was. Of course she did. "Love and pain are nothing to be ashamed of," she responded firmly, "Your emotions are your own to feel. The actions you allow them to influence are what matters."

"Did Fawkes and Butch tell you about that time I went undercover and overthrew the Pitt slavers?"

Star hesitated at the sudden change in subject. The rise and fall of once thought killed-in-action Paladin Ishmael Ashur had been all the news in the Citadel for a few days. "Yes. From what our Scribes and Scouts could ascertain, you infiltrated their slave population, won your freedom in combat, and overthrew the Slavers. You took away the Cure for the Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion, the one they were using to maintain their power."

"I took a baby away," Ben whispered.

Star was quiet.

"I took little Marie away from her parents. I tried to sneak her out, but her mother caught me and drew her gun…I put a bullet through her head, with her baby cradled in my arms. Then I ran away from her home while her father was torn apart by Trogs. Then I almost deposited her into the care of strangers who wanted to raise her as a lab rat for the rest of her life…and then I left her with a small family in Rivet City, who have _no idea_ who she is. I did this for the greater good, Star."

Silence. Ben looked so brittle, so frail in the moonlight, like pale porcelain that would shatter into dusty pieces if she said the wrong word. She took a moment, marveling at him. As far as she knew it had been less than a year since he set foot into the Wasteland for the first time. He had done so much good since then and made so many _difficult_ decisions. Always trying his best, always being exposed to the worst this new world had to offer.

"I'm just like my father," he said at last, bitterly. "I sacrificed a child for the greater good."

"That is not true, neither for you nor your father," Star retorted, putting an arm around his shoulders. The arm was heavy with steel-plating. "From what our archives show, the Pitt dwellers were causing constant harm and active cruelty to others. They were stripping humans of freedom and dignity. They had one good thing and created a world of evil around it. You did not mean to rob Marie of her birth-family…you meant to free a thousand other beings."

"So Dad leaving me so he could give pure water to the Wastelands…that's okay too, right? He made his best choice, right? Never mind that he failed, nothing has changed, and the world is still burning…him leaving me was okay!"

"Now listen to me!" Star shook Ben a little. "I was there at your birth, I saw your father hold you. Saw him take you everywhere strapped to his chest because he was afraid to leave you alone in your crib. I know he abandoned Project Purity the first time for you, and he would have done it again if he thought you needed him to." She forced her voice to be gentle as Ben flinched at her last words. At the sheer strength of James' love for his son. "But he knew you were good, and strong, and wise. That you too, cared for the suffering of others. You too, want to heal this world."

Silence. Again, that brittleness. But it was different now. Something inside of Ben…it didn't need to be preserved. It _needed_ to break. Or rather to burst, like a dam. Star leaned close to him, the servos in her shoulder whirring in a gentle murmur. Her bionic eyes focused on the erratic swell of breath as it lifted his shoulders.

"I think…" she said slowly, measuring her words. The moonlight was strong, the pale light drenching them. "I think what makes you angry, really angry, Benedict…is that your father didn't ask you to come with him. Stupid about people as he often could be, he didn't give you a chance to choose."

Ben's shoulders slumped under her arms. The man who had faced down Behemoths with a missile launcher and been to space and freed cities from tyrannical rule…he waited for her to shatter him.

"He didn't give you a chance to say goodbye."

With a terrible, sudden movement, Ben ripped off his goggles and buried his face in his dirty hands. A woman whose body had been half-destroyed by the Wasteland, Star held her boy tightly in her arms and wondered how much of him had already been destroyed. She wondered how much more he had yet to lose.

Loss and regret and simple, broken pain flooded from the fragmented parts of him, sobs shaking his entire body as the orphan finally admitted he was an orphan, that his father was not perfect but had always loved him, that his father really, _truly loved him_ …and now was gone forever.


	4. Fawkes

**Fawkes**

Whenever Fawkes was severely injured, it was a terrible time. It reminded all of them just how dangerous their world was, when it could stop the most unstoppable of their company.

It also meant that Butch, Star, and Ben would have to labor over miles of terrain to find a decent patch of radiation, and then take the time to fight off any abhorrent mutations that were nesting around it. Then set up camp around this cancer-causing swamp. All this while goading a heavily injured Fawkes along before he became too weak to walk on his own.

At the moment they'd found a large, empty shipping container that had been tipped over by some explosion, dumping its precious load of nuclear barrels into a depression that, over time, had turned into an irradiated cesspool.

And Fawkes was sitting inside of it now, breathing heavily, letting the radiation sooth him like steam from a spa. Being a pure, first generation Vault Dweller, of course, Ben could only sit some distance away, listening to Fawkes' voice echoing from inside the container.

It was ludicrously like hearing someone shout from an outhouse. Ben's imagination wandered to Fawkes sitting on a barrel of radioactive waste, back bent to avoid the roof, just chattering away to himself in a loud, rumbling bellow.

As he waited for the super mutant to finish healing up on radiation and come out so they could continue on their way, he ran his hands through his hair, briefly wondering what on earth his life had come to.

"BENEDICT. MY FRIEND."

"I'm right here!" Ben shouted back, nervously glancing around, expecting at any moment to see a Yao Guai bounding through the dead trees. "Inside voice!"

"I can still see my intestines, but they are no longer falling out. I grow tired of sitting here."

"Wait until you can't see your intestines, please." Again, Ben wondered what his life had come to.

The silence was brief. There was an impatient thud of Fawkes' fist against the inside of the container. "You never told me about what happened in your Vault, when they called you back for help! It would make a good story…to pass the time!"

Ben fiddled with his Pipboy a moment, using VATS to scan their surroundings. Star and Butch were supposed to be out there making sure nothing attacked them while Fawkes was vulnerable. But you could never be sure in the Wastes. "It wasn't that interesting," he said at last. "The first time, I'd parted from everyone on fairly good terms…even the Overseer had to respect that. I walked straight into his office and persuaded him that Amata was the best chance the Vault had to survive. He was a stubborn megalomaniac, but he did want the best for the Vault in his own way, and he'd always known it since her birth…Amata was hope for the future."

"Amata." Fawkes tried the name out in his teeth, "She was your friend?"

Ben shook his head, staring out into the distance. "She _was_. They all were. I would have even accepted the Overseer for _stepfather_ …" he chuckled disbelievingly, in awe of how much he would have sacrificed for Amata.

"Was? Were?" Fawkes shifted on the barrels. They creaked, a shard of metal snapping somewhere and letting more radioactive goo hiss out. "No longer?"

"I was my Dad for them," Ben replied at last, "I was the GOAT, literally and figuratively. People I'd known since before I could walk…my Uncle Stanley, he gave me this Pipboy and was always ready to listen to me complain as a kid. He'd just tinker away on the Vault's systems while I ranted about Butch and Amata and the Overseer and everything under the sun, from prepubescent troubles to the existential feeling of being trapped in the Vault."

"And then Officer Gomez…he was like my cool big brother, always stepping in to pull me and Butch apart. Always there to give me an extra helping hand or put a good word in for me with my Dad or the Overseer. Old man Taylor…who used to laugh at my antics. People who babysat me. Taught me. Held me in their arms when my father paid them house calls…"

The lights on the Pipboy flickered as the display went into sleep-mode. Ben gazed blearily at the darkened screen. "They drove me out. Banished me. 'Good riddance,' they said. 'Get lost. You're not one of us anymore.' Every single one of them spat it at my neck as I walked by on my way out the door. I'm sure some of them would have liked to kill me. My old friends. My nosey neighbors. Even Amata. Even my childhood sweetheart. They were my _family_ , and they rejected me."

There was only silence. Fawkes may have understood completely and was trying to think of something to say…or he was still processing. Ben had no way of knowing. Because Fawkes, in his own way, was a Vault orphan as well. Except that what he had suffered was a hundred times worse than anything Butch or Ben had been through.

"But you know all about that, I guess," Ben finished. His mind flashed to the fight earlier that day…the big, ugly super mutant Master towering over Fawkes, opening up at point-blank range with a machine gun, tearing his friend's insides out before Fawkes could even lift his sledge.

Because Fawkes had been reciting _poetry_. Trying to remember the lines, to calm himself even as they carefully cleared out the tilted remains of a high-rise building in the D.C. area. Send a fellow-mutant's brains against the wall, recite a verse. Kick one off the parapet and hear him scream all the way down…recite a verse.

"The men of the East are decked in steel," Fawkes interrupted his thoughts. Another blasted poem. No sign of having understood Ben's story of losing his family. "They march with a trumpet's din. They glitter with silks and golden scales, and high kings boast their kin." A deep sigh. A difficult pause as Fawkes' mind struggled to grasp at the fine, tattered shreds, the echoes of a cultured age. "High kings boast their kin…while we of the West wear the hides of wolves, but our hearts are steel within."

Again, Fawkes waited, as if hoping Ben would complement him on the recitation. Ben didn't feel like it. "The Marching Song of Connacht," the super mutant supplied helpfully.

Ben wasn't familiar with the work. But a super mutant was. A mutant who had almost died today with rhyme and rhythm on his lips. "You hold back a lot, Fawkes."

 _The mutant master's eyes are lidless and white. No pupils. Nothing human remains in a face that is covered with veins…arteries bulging like cords under his tough green skin. He roars at the smaller mutant, spit spraying out between his bared teeth, spattering Fawkes' face. Confident in his power, blind to anything but the desire to kill, his bellowing scream almost drowns out the ear-shattering whine of the machine gun roaring to life._

"Sometimes, I can't…I can't help but feel that if you let yourself go, just a little…you might not have almost died today."

"But I know better," he quickly amended, ashamed at how little consideration he was giving Fawkes' internal struggle. "I understand why you can't. I just…worry about you."

The wind swept across the barren horizon, singing softly. When Fawkes spoke again, he was using his inside voice. "Which is better to save, the body or the mind? Which is truly connected to the spirit? If _you_ find the question a difficult puzzle, Benedict, when body, mind, and spirit are united…how much harder it must be for me, when my body is pulling me towards a dark salvation, and my mind yearns for the light, to what I may never be again."

"If my body were to win, Benedict…if I were to join my feral brothers in their animal madness, will you do me one last favor, as a friend? Will you stage…let us call it…an intervention?"

They both knew what that meant. A VATs shot lined up, centered on the soft spot above Fawkes' ear. A bullet ready to put him out of his misery. Ben felt an awful pressure on his throat, a pain behind his eyes. The scar from his lobotomy seemed to ache like a phantom warning. He swallowed. "Fawkes…you're my anchor, more than you realize. You've always kept me on the straight and narrow and…if I begin to do terrible things, if I seek a 'dark salvation', grant me the same courtesy. Stop me, any way you can. And I will do the same for you."

"Agreed." Fawkes sounded relieved. "But maybe you and I, maybe we won't lose ourselves. Maybe we'll be too busy, looking after Vrutch."

Ben burst into laughter. Delighted, Fawkes joined in with that ugly chuckle that sounded like a Deathclaw choking on dinner bones. "But OUR GIRL will watch over him, I think." The super mutant added, grinning.

Ben nodded, smiling softly to himself. "She's very good at that."

Their mirth faded into companionable silence. Then, there was the sound of pattering footsteps and panting breath from the other side of the container. "Benedict…your CREATURE is coming into the container." There was a curious woof, this time from inside the container. Fawkes' voice increased in panic. "BEN. RADIOACTIVITY IS NOT GOOD FOR THE CREATURE."

"It's hardly any better for me!" Ben growled before whistling insistently for Dogmeat. His loyal pet willfully ignored him. _Man's best friend. Sure._

He pulled out a precious plastic bottle of Rad-X and began unscrewing the lid, trying not to think of how Star would scold him for wasting supplies and braving the radiation just to haul Dogmeat out so Fawkes could finish healing up in peace.

Again, for the thousandth time, he wondered what his life had come to.


	5. Harold-Herbert-Bob

**Harold/Herbert/Bob**

Ben lay with his arms crossed behind his head. The strange, alien sensation of green grass brushing his neck. His old biker's helmet and goggles were thrown carelessly aside, letting his red hair wave stiffly in the breeze. It was night in the Wasteland. Instead of a poisonous, chilly wind, however, the valley of Oasis was warm, and green, and alive.

Almost like a cocoon. Like a tiny sphere of fantasy in a harsh reality…like Dr. Braun's simulated neighborhood. Except the Oasis was _real_. More than that, it was hope, a promise of what life had once been and still could be. Like Project Purity.

He shifted his head up even farther, looking away from the stars. Above him loomed the silhouette of a giant tree. He stared at the perfectly round bulge extending from the trunk, lit up by the torches planted strategically around the center of the valley. The bulge that jutted out just above a terrifying set of yellowed teeth that were drooling sap.

"Harold." Ben said softly. He waited a moment, then hissed, " _Harold_."

Finally, the bulge slit in half and opened wide, revealing a watery yellow eye, swollen to the size of a giant tennis ball. "Hmm?" a grunt rumbled from deep inside the trunk, the sound shivering out between the gnashed teeth.

"You've been sleeping a lot since you started growing," Ben observed amicably.

"Not sleepin'…" the tree spoke with a distinctively southern drawl. "Since you told me ta watch life out there more…there's just so much ta look at."

Harold spoke slowly, as if his thoughts were travelling to him from the very tips of Bob's roots, threading their way for miles all around. Ben was patient. He waited for Harold to finish, taking time to enjoy every breath.

"How'd you figure…that I could see…beyond this valley?"

Ben shrugged. "Just a hunch." He didn't want to go into too much detail, not when he still wasn't sure exactly how sentient Bob was. He only knew that something Harold had said during their first meeting triggered an idea.

Harold had said that it was Bob who first saw the Lone Wanderer, reaching out to Ben and alerting the Treeminders because it was what Harold 'needed'. It didn't necessarily mean that Bob had an emotional connection to its human host or cared about him…but it did follow to reason that the health of one, whether physical or mental, was necessary for the survival of the other. They were symbiotically linked now, so if Harold 'willed' to have something, then the Tree would strive to achieve it.

And Harold was lonely, and curious, and missed the outside world. Because of that, because his neurons had blended with Bob's roots…somehow, either through sonar, seismic, shade-perception or a combination of them, Harold could 'see' far, far out into the Wastes. It stood to reason that someday, he would be able to hear as well. Maybe even direct the roots where to grow.

Even with a piece of his brain missing, Ben had seized a curiosity. Converted it to a theory. Followed it along a controlled avenue of thought and hit upon a logical deduction. And he'd been right. Dad would have been proud. "Anyway…what were you looking at? What did you see?"

Harold exhaled heavily. Ben could almost feel the rush of air in the caverns buried beneath them. "Feet stampin'…dancin'…the world shook with their noise. They were…happy. Bob and I…we made their garden grow. Made fruit on their crops. They used to just eat the bitter roots…could never get fruit before. Thought that was all the scrubs produced."

"Who?"

"Family…I think. Felt like little girls…and a father. Two little 'uns….their feet were lighter."

"Mmm." Ben smiled proudly. It was entirely due to Harold's sacrifice, of course. He'd only agreed to keep living on condition that Ben come back and check on him in ten years…and kill him if he still wanted it.

Ben had made Butch, Star, and Fawkes promise to keep that vow in case he couldn't. Star and Fawkes understood, with life in the Wasteland being what it was. Butch, however…he still had that strange, haughty innocence about him.

 _"Ah shaddup. If you insist on going around and making weird friends than you gotta be the one to deal with them. I ain't going waste my life telling every vampire, Trog, and talking Deathclaw that you croaked. Besides, I can't just…kill a giant tree. There's no way I'm going into that cave again just to rip up a giant heart. That's your M.O., not mine!"_

 _Ben scrambled over the collapsed cement divider, rifle held loosely in his hands as he glanced at his Pipboy for hostile activity. Finding none, he turned to Butch with a teasing smile. "What're you talking about? You're great at cutting things short!" He pointed aggressively at the ugly, spiky patch on the back of his head where Butch had completely ignored Ben's wish to have a 'light trim'._

 _"Look, your haircuts are **free**." Butch didn't seem to realize he was scratching Dogmeat behind the ears, causing the canine's tail to wag. The hairdresser-turned-merc was too busy glaring up at Ben, squinting in the haze of sunlight that spilled across that crumbling section of D.C.. "You don't like them, then try cracking open your purse and contributing to the Butch Booze Fund for once."_

 _"VRUTCH, WE ARE PROUD OF YOUR STRUGGLE AND WE SUPPORT YOU!" Fawkes hollered from less than a few steps behind them. A veteran of Fawkes' ways, Butch didn't jump. But his eyes narrowed scornfully as if shielding himself from the stupidity of all of his companions at that moment._

 _Ben chuckled._

 _"Oh yeah, keep laughing, Ben. I'm gonna lock you and Big-Mouth here in a Pulowski shelter together until he kills you with a nuclear fart!"_

 _The remark didn't have the desired effect. Ben's arms went slack as he bent over, splitting his sides with laughter. Fawkes was strangely quiet, his feelings hurt. Star merely lifted her eyebrows at the display._

 _Butch watched Ben unravel, unaware of the reluctant smile on his own face. Strange. The two of them were wandering in a world far away from the safety of their Vault…and yet they couldn't remember ever having more fun together. In their cozy home, they'd been enemies. Out here in the Apocalypse, they were **friends**._

"I'm moving…elliptical, like you said." Harold's gravelly voice broke through Ben's reminiscing. "A curved sweep…so it isn't obvious…where the source is. I moved West and found ruins that were recent…tainted by smoke and oil…rich with death. I felt…hungry, and confused, and solemn all at once…Bob and I, I think we ate some of those people."

Ben grimaced. "Well…Bob probably did. It's okay, Harold. They were already dead, and it isn't like you can stop Bob when he's hungry."

"Yeah…but I felt bad, so I put some flowers there. To show they were…turnin' into something better. Those dead people were tough…to digest, though."

"Harold…" Ben couldn't believe this was a story life was threatening to burn into his mind, "I don't think I need to know."

"Armor," Harold's eye blinked sleepily. "They were armored up, hiding their real selves."

Ben stiffened, his hands clenching into fists behind his head as he heard the bursts of laser fire and harsh laughter spin through his brain, heard the warning claxons of a radiation leak and saw a hand pressed against the glass. Trapped. "Raven Rock?" he asked, slowly.

Oblivious, Harold scoffed. "I don't have _names_ for these places. It's hard enough…to remember my own."

"Were there multiple Power Stations around it?" Ben felt every breath in his body, painfully loud. His chapped lips were parted in the chilly night air.

"Hmm…yeah…made Bob's roots tingle unpleasantly." Harold's eye rolled in its socket, as if seeing something far away, something no one else could. "But someone's watering the flowers now…the steps are light, and the water...it's salty. Tears. Little feet, big feet…been doing it on and off for days now. They make it worth it."

Ben didn't know what to make of the fact that family members were coming to the exploded bunker of Raven Rock like it was the Arlington Cemetery. That they were grieving, mourning. It seemed to drain away his hatred and, worse than that…it made him feel guilty.

Discomforted, he focused on the night sky again. The clouds were sparse tonight, and the sky was brilliant with stars. At night, when the shameful sun gave way to the gentle moon…the world almost looked pure again. "I've been up there, Harold."

"Huh?"

"I've been in the stars. Those lights up there…just like on the radio. I was abducted by aliens, Harold!"

"Uh…"

Perhaps Harold had forgotten. Perhaps Ben was speaking too quickly. "Strange travelers from the deep blackness above captured me and pulled me up into their ship…their steel bubble in space. But…it wasn't strange at all. It was just like home. It was blood and experimentation, using other beings for whatever the hell they wanted. Cold, uncaring…and all of us sane ones trapped behind metal walls, hurtling through a universe we couldn't touch. Growing old in isolation…just like the Vault."

A leaf drifted down towards Ben's face. He puffed a shot of air towards it, blowing it off course. "But there was a little girl up there who didn't seem to notice she was in prison. She didn't seem to be scared of the demons that ran the ship. She was still small enough to hold onto a better way of life, to believe that somehow, everything would someday be alright. She was brave and daring and audacious."

Ben sat up and turned around. Harold's eye was wide open, staring at him. "People like her…like little Yew, like the farmer's family and the grieving relatives at Raven Rock. And the Treeminders. They make everything worth it, Harold. All our suffering, all the violence and madness we have to swim through. They hold an entire world inside of themselves…a beautiful new world we can no longer imagine or see. They…they're _seeds_ , Harold. We need to keep them safe."

"I see…whatcha mean." The tree's branches creaked suddenly, whether from the wind or some other force, Ben couldn't say. "But…you're fergettin' something."

"You came here, and I threw…my happiness in your hands. Threw my…despair. And you told those Treeminders to…read to me. Sing to me. You gave Yew that flute…she plays songs for me sometimes. You told the people…to hold their light shows and…their dances…right here in this clearing. You told them I wasn't…wasn't gonna be the Lonely God anymore. Said I wanted to…be the Heart of their Joy."

Ben felt rather than heard Dogmeat's paws rush by him, chasing something under the starlight. He heard the Treeminders laughing as they served dinner to his friends. He remembered the tenderness in his father's face, mingled with wracking pain and apology as he begged his son to run away.

Harold's yellow eye softened. "You made me send out life…to the Wasteland, but you made sure…to bring life to me as well. They're the seeds, Ben…but you an' me, we're the growers."


	6. Alpha and Omega

**Alpha and Omega**

Slowly, Ben started to wake up. And immediately wished he hadn't. It felt like someone had reached right through him, pulling him out of his skin and leaving him on the hard metal ground, naked and sore. Every nerve was on fire, burning so intently he thought his flesh would turn to ashes from the white-hot pain. But a hand scooped under his neck, and another under his knees.

He felt himself lifted. The movement of his bones caused an indescribable wave of agony that radiated up and down his spine. As if an invisible force had passed through his body and made his skeleton porous, as if air and pain was leaking into what was once solid and whole. The chest he was settled against was rock-hard and green. In a haze, he saw a statue of Thomas Jefferson, drowning in a tank of water.

A massive door hissed shut somewhere. Ben cried out at the change in pressure. "I am sorry to move you," Fawkes said, gently. "I am sorry to hurt you."

 _Fawkes?_

And then it hit Ben, why someone somewhere was moaning and whimpering with such misery that it broke his heart. He had activated Project Purity and fulfilled his father's mission. He'd brought fresh water to the Wasteland. But in return, death itself had passed through him and destroyed every cell in his body. And now his spirit was left to linger in a scorched, hollowed-out shell. The same radiation that killed his father.

 _40,000 millisieverts. Cognitive impairment and convulsions as the neurons misfire or halt altogether, sparking like torn wires._

"Bring him here." It was Star's voice. It was so serious…deep and overwhelmingly sad.

 _Death within the hour._

It didn't matter that she was a Cyborg, with partial resistance to radiation. Ben knew that what was left of his body was like an isotope now. She shouldn't be touching him. No human should. They should have left him in the chamber.

He started to shake his head, but the vertebrae in his neck seized up. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the muscles that normally made his words come out.

His voice came, but it was ragged. Torn. Whistling through holes in his blistering lungs. "No…" something was wet and loose in his throat, trembling even as it choked him. A shred of his heart, maybe. " _Don't_."

Fawkes lowered him to the ground. He could hear water running under his head…they were crowded on the cold, grated platform that ran around the outside of the Rotunda. Sound faded in and out. All the shapes he could see turned from fuzzy figures to mad, dancing scribbles. Like a child's drawing.

"We're not going to leave you alone, not now." Star was sitting by his head, her face looming over him. Her eyes were wet…shining. After all her years on the Wasteland, Ben was surprised she had any tears left. More than that he was overwhelmed with awe, that she would save some for _him_.

"This is an Intervention," Fawkes said, from farther away. Again, the super mutant's voice was so soft that Ben was afraid his hearing was fading even faster.

"Yeah," Butch's voice was like a whispery, broken thing. _That_ was the strangest of all. That scared him. He couldn't tell where Butch was…but he wished he could see him. He wished he could tell Butch that there were other heroes in the world to follow, and that Butch didn't have to look farther than himself to find one. Butch's broken whisper came again. "This is an Interve…"

He stopped. There was the sound of someone wheeling around and pacing away.

Star sighed at Butch, disappointed. Then she turned to look down again, her face tender. "Benedict, I held you when you came into this world. If it comforts you, I would like to hold you as you leave."

There was moisture on Ben's face. Probably blood from his nose. His lips were swollen from blisters. Luckily, he wouldn't live long enough to see any other symptoms. He wanted to cry. He wanted to ask Star if his mother had died crying. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the tears trickle down towards his ears.

Star took that as consent. One hand gently threaded through his hair, fingers brushing his aching head. The other took his hand in hers. "There is no doubt. You are as brave and as wise as your father. Although maybe not as blind. Catherine would have been so proud. They both would weep from pride and joy to see the hero you have become."

 _"I feel the torment of a man who returns home and discovers the changes his absence has wrought." Bloomseer Poplar puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, wishing him strength. He didn't know, at that moment, what she meant. But as he walked away from Vault 101 for the second and last time…he had never felt closer to his father. He had never felt more alone._

 ** _"Tis better to be alone, then of bad company." President Eden's voice reminds him, blaring from an Enclave Radio bot lined up in his sights. Every single one he's ever seen, he shoots. Because he couldn't shoot General Autumn. And yet the advice is good. Wise words from a computer with no soul._**

 _"I'm sorry." Amata's face looks positively ancient. Her warm brown eyes are shiny with tears. But the coldness of the Vault, the coldness of her father…it takes her by the shoulders and makes her stand, straight and stiff. "You're a hero…and you have to leave."_

 ** _"I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me."_**

 _His father's face as he stumbles out of Dr. Braun's simulation machine…worried and frazzled, ashamed and happy all at once. His father's arms around him, the strength of his faith as he whispers that Benedict is not less for all that the Wasteland has taken from him. When he tells Benedict that he is more than he could have ever hoped for. His father's smile, putting a light and a strength in Benedict's chest that burns like a nuclear fire, and shines like the sun._

 ** _"Maybe someday, things will change, and we can see each other again."_**

 _Project Purity shaking, screaming with error. Silent poison flooding a glass prison. James' face, creased in pain, miserable with abject apology. For his child. Because this would be their last parting…and still, they would never get the chance to say everything they needed to._

 ** _"Goodbye. I love you."_**

There was a rough touch to his knee. Fawkes was kneeling there, head bent. One hand gripped Ben's leg. The other reached out towards where Butch was, seizing him by the waist and dragging him towards Ben's other side. Star was at his head, and Fawkes and Butch were at either side.

Pushed by Fawkes, Butch fell to his knees with a loud thump. There were tears streaming down his face and he tried to glare at Ben, to blame him for dying.

Ben smiled. Butch wasn't a good kid. He had never been a good kid…a brat, a bully, a coward. An orphan. A rebel. A thug.

Breathing was so difficult now, but what he was about to say was worth the waste. "You're a terrible person," he panted.

Butch froze.

 _"They're the seeds."_

"But you're a…good friend." Why did he sound like Harold, slow, out of breath…not quite belonging to the world he yet rested on?

 _"You an' me, Ben, we're the **growers**."_

"And I think…you're gonna be a great…a great man."

Something new and strange rushed through Butch's eyes like wildfire. Pride. Hope. Confidence. Light. All the things Butch had tried to pretend to have. All the things Benedict had been given by his father. All the things the world would always try to take away.

Ben smiled as Butch seized his hand. "Thanks man, you too…I mean, you were…I mean…"

"Wait." Star's hand came away from his. He felt cold at the loss of contact. But she had pulled a piece of crumpled paper out from between his fingers.

It was a page torn out of the frame in his father's office, from the Vault. Absconded with on the way out and folded many times. The same scrap he had yanked from his pocket with a thunderclap of realization as he suddenly reasoned out the three-digit code to Project Purity.

"Revelation, 21:6." Star's mellow voice calmed him. The pressure of her hand on his head made it easier to breathe. "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely."

Ben closed his eyes blissfully, trying to distance himself from the twisted, dying cesspool of his body. What good words to die with. His father's favorite story. His mother's favorite verse. Blackness thrummed, ringing all around him.

"He that overcomes shall possess these things."

Fawkes' voice, ringing in his ears. _Of course_ Fawkes would have read the Bible. Fawkes had read everything.

It suddenly struck Ben that it might not have been just the verse…maybe the whole book. Maybe the whole book was the reason for Project Purity. Maybe the whole book was his mother's favorite.

"And I will be his God." Fawkes' hand squeezed tighter. Ben realized he was convulsing. Seizing up. Dying. Butch looked frightened, but he held on. Star held on. They held him as the shreds of his heart were swept up in a sunlit storm that would bear his spirit away. Maybe to the earth, maybe to the stars…maybe to something better.

 ** _"I just want to say…I'm very proud of you."_** _James' hazel eyes are warm and strong. **Catherine** is there. His mother's eyes are tender, and bright, and right there in front of him. He only needs to reach for her._

"And he shall be my son." Fawkes choked, his voice thick and raw with pain.

Benedict's hand ripped away from Star suddenly, straining towards empty air.

At that moment, Dogmeat seemed almost human, his soft dark eyes proud, and kind, and _knowing_. He nuzzled his owner's palm, gently returning pressure until the hand fell limply away.

Above their bent heads, there was a gentle, relentless roar as the current soared around the Jefferson, free and pure of taint. Ready to give life instead of take it. Against all hope, the Lone Wanderer had learned from his father's example. He had single-handedly taken the first steps towards reclaiming the world from nuclear fire.

But it had not been done by his weapons, or skill in battle, or his willingness to kill. The seeds for this miracle had been planted by all the choices Benedict Hawkins had made throughout his short life outside the Vault, his single year of suffering.

Because despite all the world had taken from him, evil had been met with sacrifice. Pain had been tempered with kindness, and loss had been answered by love.

FINISH

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: Just some convoluted thoughts and opinions on my Lone Wanderer's character journey and his relationships with the companions I chose for him. Thank you very much for stopping by, and I hope you enjoyed!_**


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